A/N: an epilogue 3

He finds her on the balcony, puffing on a cigarette.

"You don't smoke," he says. "At least, you didn't smoke. Y'know, before."

She laughs a little. "There's a reason you're gunning for the führer's seat and I'm not, General."

Roy smiles. "Because I'm prettier?"

Riza elbows him. "Because you can handle the attention. Actually, because you can play into the attention. They start fawning over me and I get jittery." She sucks on the cigarette again. He hasn't seen her do that since Ishval, way back when. He nudges her to ask for a hit. She obliges.

It doesn't taste good. It never has.

Führer Grumman wanted to claim Riza's success as his own. It was a ploy, and while Roy admonishes Grumman for it he also admires him. It's what Roy did when the Briggs soldiers won Central on the Promised Day. It's what Grumman did when Roy won the people's favor on the Promised Day. It is a legitimate strategy, swooping in to thieve someone else's triumph as your own. And it works.

Grumman's been in all the papers talking out of his ass about sending Riza north (Roy's idea), conversing with General Armstrong, and planting Roy's men in Ishval (again, Roy's idea). The truth was that Armstrong and Roy had to fight tooth and nail to get their way those first few weeks. Roy had even gone so far as to send men into Ishval under Grumman's nose. There was no way Grumman would openly admit that, though. If he did then he'd be admitting to weakness, to frailty. He'd be telling everyone that General Mustang did not fear his strong hand, and that the führer's control on Amestris was thinning. Both those things were true, however the public wasn't ready to know it yet. It's probable that they never will know it.

Führer Grumman is a clever man.

"What did the führer have to say?" Riza asks, stomping out the white butt of her cigarette. He knows she'll want to stay outside on the balcony, but duty will call her back to the ballroom eventually. She'll sip on wine after that. Red.

"Things about change," Roy says, leaning his forearms on the balcony's rail. There were five balconies at Centurion Ballroom. All are rectangular outcroppings on the building's southern-facing wall. Their railings are all adorned with pretty white flowers Roy doesn't know the name of, and vines with flat green leaves. There is a flower pot in each corner, home to very green, very smelly plants.

Beyond Centurion, Central City is flecked with life. Headlights. Lamps. Illuminated windows at Hotel Bell. Children with flashlights chasing frogs at the park. Tail lights and street lights and the glowing eyes of alley cats. Riza's hand brushes over the top of Roy's.

"Change?" She says.

"It's going to happen soon," Roy tells her.

You don't need to me to tell you who's name I'm throwing in the hat. That was what Führer Grumman actually said. He'd dipped his head and whispered it low into Roy's ear. You don't need me to tell you.

It was almost nauseating how close Roy was.

It hadn't been his idea to throw this soirée. It was Grumman's, of course. People needed to be celebrated! Riza especially.

She has two medals pinned to her jacket, one for valor and one for sacrifice. Roy wonders idly if there's one for reliving trauma, one for feeling abandoned, one for getting stabbed and shot and other things.

"What did the führer have to say to you?" Roy says. He needs to take his mind off Riza's last few months or else he'll become too angry to function.

"He's promoting me. Or rather, he wants to promote me."

That isn't unusual. The public will be expecting that, as well as the higher ups.

"It's about ti—."

"To the rank of colonel."

"Oh."

That is unexpected. Certainly Riza deserves such a promotion. She's always been a leader, whether she believes it or not. She commands men well. She's great at compartmentalizing. She's organized, intelligent, and disciplined. She will make a great colonel… But she will be stripped from Roy's retinue.

The whole point of her joining the military was to work under Roy.

Until I reach my goal, he reminds himself. You don't need me to tell you.

"Are you going to accept?" He asks. He tries to sound impartial. He might have failed at it if he hadn't sucked down two glasses of bourbon already tonight.

"I think so," she says. Warm summer air flutters her bangs, pulls her hair from the nape of her neck. "You're close, General. I can take over reparations in Ishval while you run the country. I'll report directly to you, if that's what you want. But I've been thinking…

"What will happen in Ishval if we're both sequestered in Central headquarters? I can only think that Jaeger was born because we weren't watching, sir. Someone needs to be there, watching."

She takes a breath.

"I think there was some merit to the things he had to say. I think we've relied so heavily on one another that we've stunted our growth in places. You've nearly reached your peak, sir. I'd like to find out where my peak is."

She doesn't need to explain. Roy understands. He does, he understands.

He's proud. His chest swells with it.

Although he's also hurt, in a way. He will miss her.

"I think I'm going to put a request in for Havoc." She says. Roy crinkles his nose.

"Adding salt to the wound, I see."

"I'm going to take Rebecca, too." She goes on, ignoring him, a small smile tugging at her lips. "And Ryder. I may have to wrestle General Armstrong for him, but I've got my heart set."

"Ryder? Lieutenant Ryder?" Roy's met him once. The man is nice enough, sort of goofy. Handsome. "I think he has a crush on you."

She laughs. "I think it doesn't matter, sir."

He's about to retort when someone raps on the doorframe. He turns, and there's a waiter standing in the doorway. Light frames his slight shoulders. Roy's suddenly aware of the noise from the party inside, filling the balcony with voices and violins.

"Captain Hawkeye," the man says. "Someone slipped this letter into my coat pocket, sir. It's addressed to you." He holds it out to her.

She takes it. "Thank you." She says, then shoos him away. Sure enough, her name is scrawled over the white expanse of the envelope. Pretty cursive, Roy notes. Riza slips her finger beneath the lip of the envelope and tears it away in one swift movement.

"'Hey, Em,'" Riza reads aloud. "'You served your purpose. Thanks for that. We're in my mother's hometown. It's really humid here. Tell that general of yours to do some good for once. I'll be rooting for you from the other side of the desert. Best wishes, G.'"

Riza presses the letter to her chest briefly before folding it up and depositing it into her pocket.

"Who was that?" Roy asks. "What did they mean by 'for once'?"

"I think it's time we return to the party, sir." She says, placing a hand on his arm. She disappears into the ballroom's belly, crystallized chandelier light engulfing her form.

Colonel Hawkeye.

When Roy finds her again later, as guests are leaving and the only musician left is a drunk piano player, he takes her in his arms and they dance. It's polite, of course. It's as platonic as they can make it. It's congratulatory, he says loudly to the emptying room.

Only she can hear him say that she's magnificent.

A/N: an epilogue was always an idea, but i didn't think it would turn out quite like this one. Gina didn't have a place in the final chapter, and i've known from the get-go that what she and Opal needed from Riza was distraction. a chance to escape. that's why Riza was perfect, because Roy would provide them with the theatrics they needed to slip away (to Xing!). the colonel thing was always in the cards too. this story has always been about Riza's growth independent of Roy, and that's how it's ended.

i sincerely hope this ride was as fun for you all as it was for me. i'm still processing that it's over, there will be a few tears to come i'm sure. this story has been a part of me for two-and-a-half years. it's taught me so much about storytelling and writing. it's made me many friends. i'll love it forever

also, just so you all know, I pretty much exclusively use AO3 now! That's where I'll be posting my next story, Battle Born. Same username (rizahawkaye)!